


Blame It On The Rum

by pentameter_and_pen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1664228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentameter_and_pen/pseuds/pentameter_and_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Swan. There are some things a pirate doesn’t forget. A certain blonde bar wench is one of them. [During 3.21]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It On The Rum

All that glitters is not gold, but the way her hair catches the light, it might as well be. She came out of nowhere and it hits him like a dream. He just sits there, staring at her, mouth agape because she’s taken his tongue hostage and it’s all he can do to regain his breath.

“What are you boys playing?”

There’s something about her and he can’t quite put his finger on it. He’s used to being hit on. He is devilishly handsome (even if he says so himself) and he’s currently a pirate sitting in a tavern. Suggestive phrases whispered in ears, unlimited servings of rum, hands that wander over pant legs and up shirts… It’s the perfect recipe for late night flirtations.

Except that there’s something different about this one. Her words and actions welcome his attentions (Picking up the bottle of rum as she asks, “How about you and I get to know each other better?” before leading him into a secluded corner) but her eyes read him like he’s an open book. Like he’s no longer just Hook, widely feared pirate, but also Killian Jones, little known lieutenant.  

And no one’s looked at him like that since…  _Liam_.

He downs the first shot of alcohol she pours them almost immediately. 

“Looks like someone’s thirsty.” she says, watching him set his little tankard down.

“You have no idea  _Love_ …” he responds, raising his eyebrow at her.

 

For a second she gives him a weird look and he’s not sure if it’s because of what he just told her, or if it’s because he called her ‘ _Love_ ’. It’s funny. It shouldn’t matter. He’s called a lot of women that over the years (often because he can’t remember their names), but this is the first time that little nickname has fit. There’s nothing else he wants to call this woman – except perhaps her name.

But before he can ask her what it is, she’s done pouring them another round and her fingers are wrapped around the handle of her drink and she’s smiling at him and all he can think is that a little rum might be in order. So he puts that shot away as well.

“I don’t know many ladies who have a taste for rum,” he tells her, watching her refill their empty containers. If this is going to fast, he can’t tell. He’s got a nice little buzz currently happening.

“I have a taste for a lot of things…” she replies lifting up her drink.

“I bet you do…” He says as he picks up his shot, knocking this one back as well.

Looking back at her he sees a smile on her face and the bottle in her hand, already refilling the rum. This time he stays silent, watching her as she makes sure to stop  _just_  before the rim, ensuring no wastage of rum. If there’s one thing he admires more than a woman who appreciates rum, it’s a woman who understands the virtue of not wasting. 

 _She’d do well on a ship_.

The thought pops into his head unbidden. But before he can pursue it she’s holding her drink, waiting for him to clink containers together. He does so immediately, not wanting to leave her hanging a moment longer.  

“I have a confession to make,” she declares, her voice demure and flirtatious at once.

“Most women do…” he tells her.

And for once he’s not lying – not because he can’t, but because he doesn’t want to. Not to her. Over the years women have admitted all sorts of things to him – often tales of unhappy marriages and dashed dreams, all justifications for the acts they are about to commit with him. Milah’s admission had been a mixture of both, a potent combination of regret, pain and wasted potential (not unlike himself).

She surprises him when she says, “I want to know how you got the hook.”

Her hand reaches down to grab it, lifting it up and holding it out between the two of them, as she gently runs the back of her fingers along it’s curve. It feels ridiculous but watching her he almost feels like he can actually feel what she’s doing. He can barely pay attention to what she’s saying.

“You hear so many stories…”

He feels the blood rush to his face and his mouth runs dry, but not solely because he’s attracted to her (goodness knows he is). No. It has everything to do with the way she’s handling his hook. Most women avoid it, skimming over it to focus on his face instead (he  _is_  a dashing rapscallion). He knows he must be attractive enough for them to simply ignore his most glaring feature. But she’s done no such thing, actually bringing up the metal appendage and playing with it in the most suggestive manner. And he’s certain it’s not because she’s attracted to the idea of the hook (he’s met such women of course), because he fan finally put his finger on what it is about her he likes best.

She looks at him like he’s  _whole_ , and not some broken mess. What’s more, when she smiles at him it’s like there’s nothing missing.

And that just makes him want her all the more.

He swallows nervously and moves closer to her (it’s all he can do to not take her right there).

“So…” he begins, his voice a low growl. “You know who I am and you haven’t even told me your name.”

He’s hard-pressed with the desire to know everything about her.  

But she just plays hard to get, reaching out for the bottle and pouring them another round.

“What fun would that be?” she asks.

He senses hesitancy and for a second a surge of jealousy passes through him. He hates the thought of her with another man. Not when that’s  _his_  place. The last thought surprises him as well. Pirates don’t have families. That’s why he chose this life in the first place. Without a family you have nothing to lose.

 _And with nothing to lose, you feel no pain_.

So he pushes the thoughts of a happy ending away and focuses on the matter – or rather the _woman_  – at hand. 

“Just two ships passing in the night then?” He asks, his voice a little gruff. 

“Passing  _closely_  I hope…” she responds, looking him in the eye.

In that second he sees a younger man reflected back at him – a man he’d thought had disappeared a long time ago. He looks away, but his eyes just find themselves gazing down at her breasts.

That kick-starts his brain again and he feels the pirate in him re-emerging. “Speaking of ships, what do you say we leave this place and I show you  _mine_.”    

That’s it he’s back to being a pirate again. He springs to his feet, ready to get the night started. But her hand on his stills him. It lands a little high, before slowly slipping downward and slowly erasing any thought he’d been maintaining at the time.  

“Wait…” She smiles, her eyes quickly glancing down at his lips before coming back to his eyes. “How about we have a few drinks first?”

The half a bottle of rum he’s already finished so far is beginning to take its toll on him, mixing well with the affection she’s showing him. As she hands him another drink all he can do is smile and look her in the eye as he knocks back the shot.

She returns his smile as she refills their drinks yet again.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk.” He tells her knowingly. “Which is usually  _my_  tactic.”

Honestly, he doesn’t care if this is her attempt to have her way with him. It’s quite nice to be actively pursued – especially by a woman this…  _amazing_.

“What’s wrong  _Captain_? “ she teases. “Can’t hold your rum?”

He grins and responds in kind, “Not only can I hold it…”

He waves his finger in front of her face before he reaches past her for the bottle of rum, claiming control of it. “But I can carry you out the door…”

As he slowly gets to his feet, he leans forward and whispers, “What say we set sail?”

He gets up and steps back, swaying slightly, the alcohol rushing to his head. Perhaps this wasn’t the greatest idea. But he’s too drunk on her to really stop himself.

“Come back with me for a nightcap…” he tells her, a slight slur to his words.

When she watches him without saying anything he quickly adds, “Or shall I find someone else?”

Based on the knowing smile she gives him he wonders if she can tell he’s lying. That there is no one else he wants tonight (or any other night for that matter).     

She just stands and says, “If the pirate  _insists_ …”

He grins at that. He does insist. He insists very much indeed.

As they’re leaving out the door, she stumbles, grabbing onto his free arm to anchor herself.

“Can’t wait to get started I see,” he whispers into her ear as she makes herself upright.

When she doesn’t let go of his arm, he takes it as confirmation. As celebration he takes another swig from the bottle (his third so far).

A few minutes later, when his ship is in sight she stumbles again, but this time she lets go, going to sit down on a piece of cargo.

“I think I should rest for a moment…”

He shakes his head at the idea. They’re so close to the ship. They’ll have plenty of time to rest later. He intends to make sure of that. 

“No need,” he tells her, stepping behind her and sliding his arm under her legs as he lifts her up. “I’ve carried rum barrels heavier than you!”

She fits quite well in his arms, he thinks as he takes a few steps toward the plank that leads onto his ship – even if she does squirm a little too much. 

He thinks she says something, but he’s much too excited to introduce her to his home, declaring loudly “Welcome to the Rolly Joger!”

He’s more excited than he has been a long time (though a part of that might be rum-induced) and all he can think about is possibly convincing the woman in his arms to join him out at sea, to remain at his side as a pirate. He can’t shake the feeling that she’d do a fine job. All she needs to do is jump ship – or rather, join him aboard his.

“Captain!”

Smee’s greeting interrupts his thoughts. Not that he can focus on what his first-mate is saying as he sets her down.

Almost immediately his mystery woman turns to him and says, “I seem to remember a nightcap was promised…”

Hook grins. Looks like she’s as eager to begin as he is. So he bends forward to kiss her.

But she just keeps leaning back saying, “If you can find one…”

Before she turns around to head downstairs she adds, “I’ll be waiting.”

And with a playful giggle she’s off. He turns to watch her go, enjoying the view as she slowly descends down the ladder.

He only half hears Smee’s warning (“Captain, something isn’t right here.”) as he turns towards him, his thoughts veering towards the exaggeratingly murderous on account of the man’s interruption.

“You’re right.” He tells him leaning down towards his first-mate. “You’re still here. I think you know what  _nightcap_  means…”

At the thought of the upcoming nightcap, Hook’s thoughts of revenge dissipate, and his tone softens as he tells Smee “It means that we want our privacy.”

As soon as Smee heads to exit, he turns his attentions back to the woman waiting for him downstairs.

He’s excited by the thought of  _her_. It really has been a long time since he’s had this much fun. Most women don’t make him work this hard. Nor do they match wits so easily. Had it been any other woman and they’d have already been in his bed well into their second round. But in this moment of drunken honesty he knows without a doubt they could be happy together. Because she has done what no other woman has done. She’s seen him for a man, and not a pirate.

But she  _is_  expecting a pirate. So tonight he is glad he is both.

However as he descends the stairs into his quarters he sees her standing right at the edge, almost ready to leave. His rum-soaked mind tries to figure out what exactly this means for them.

“Now where might you be going?” he asks, his pirate’s bravado shining through. “I do hope you’re not having second thoughts.”

His words are not helped by his slight stumble and grasp for the railing behind him.

“No…” she tells him, her voice half between a whisper and speaking, like she’s scared someone will hear them. Now he’s definitely glad Smee is gone.

She grabs hold of his collar, attempting to help steady him as she explains, “I just got tired of waiting.”

The next thing he knows, she’s made the first move and her lips are on his, the kiss deepening fairly quickly. For his part he can’t seem to react well enough and for the first time tonight he regrets letting her pour him that much drink. There are times – like this – where his mind must remain sharp and attentive. This is terrible form.

The moment her lips pull away he calls attention to this.

“Apologies,” he tells her, swaying in place as he focuses his eyes on her. “A woman as beautiful as you deserves my full and prompt attention…”

He gives her a smile, because he really means it. He will definitely make it up to her tomorrow morning when he is sounder of mind.

She smiles back, but then he notices her eyes light up as they look over her shoulder, and he knows without a doubt that the man she loves is standing behind him (he’d looked at Milah that way too once). At the thought he feels a wave of jealousy pass through him,  as he feels something on his shoulder as he turns around to behold this intruder (maybe Smee should have stayed).

But he turns around to see…  _himself_?

That’s when everything goes black.

CSCSCSCSC 

The next morning he wakes up on the floor of his cabin, his jaw sore and aching. All he remembers from last night is a flash of blonde hair, a flirtatious giggle and the sweet taste of rum and mixed something else. The woman is nowhere to be found. 

When he goes back to the tavern she isn’t there, and anyone he asks says they stayed to themselves in the corner for hours, gazing at one another like a pair of teenagers in love. He bristles at the description. Clearly it only applies to him. Because if she’d cared she would have stayed.

So he convinces himself that she was just some other wench, and that it’s the excess rum in his system that’s making him think otherwise. It’s been known to happen, men bedding certain women at night only to discover their true nature in the harsh light of day. 

Deep down he knows it’s a lie (her taste still remains, dancing on the tip of his tongue).

So before they set sail once more he makes sure the ship stocks up on a large barrel of rum.

The shopkeeper sees something in him because he hands him a free flask along with his purchase. When Hook looks at him questioningly the old man simply glances at the barrel Hook’s men are carrying off and says, “You’ll need some way to finish all that.”

Later that night as he refills his new possession, he’s grateful. He’s been swigging from the thing all day, the burn at the back of his throat helping him cope with the ache in his chest.

Despite how he feels about her leaving him, he’s still glad to have met her. Because even though what’s left of his heart hurts, at least he knows it still works.  

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Consider this part 2 of my fic-cation. I’m sure people have tackled Hook possibly remembering Emma all along since the finale aired but I just wanted to do my own spin. Hopefully it’s different and just as good. I just hope I nailed Hook’s POV and characterisation in this one. I’m actually very nervous about that. 
> 
> In any case, expect either a new chapter of A Pirate’s Treasures or Forever and a Day tomorrow. I’m not sure what I’ll be able to finish tonight. 
> 
> But please let me know if you have any thoughts, comments, questions or concerns. As usual, all my fics can be found on tumblr, ff.net and AO3. Thanks for reading!


End file.
